Don't Ask For More
by Starla
Summary: Angel can't say goodbye. (C/A, B/A)


Title: Don't Ask For More  
Author: Starla (fuzzylittlepackrat@hotmail.com or throwmywalrus@bored.com)  
Disclaimer: Joss and David own the characters. Abby Dobson owns the song.  
Pairings: B/A, C/A  
Rating: Implied sex. PG?  
Distribution: Let me know, though I don't know why you'd want it.  
Author's Notes: This is bad. Really bad.  
Feedback: Sure. Tell me how bad it is.  
  
'Don't ask for more  
Cos what you're searching for  
You won't find at my door  
Don't ask for more  
My heart already knows  
But my head won't let you go'  
Ask me no questions  
And I'll tell you no lies  
If you wanna be with me  
Cos the truth would set you free  
Don't look too closely  
Or you'll see my disguise  
I don't want to live a lie  
But I don't want to say another goodbye.'  
- 'Don't Ask For More' by Abby Dobson  
  
I pull her into my arms, and close my eyes against the truth running through   
my veins, listening instead to the lies my head tells me, the whispers that   
insist I love her.  
  
I love her, I love her, I love her.  
  
Except I don't, and never can.  
  
"Hold her," they say. "It'll be okay."  
  
Except it won't, it isn't, and I don't know how it ever could be.  
  
When she rolls over and snuggles into my flesh, it isn't her scent I smell,   
but that of another, and I feel my heart throb. In my heart, I taste vanilla   
and strawberries, but in my arms is coffee and chocolate, and it's just   
wrong, wrong, wrong, but I don't know how to admit that.  
  
So I don't.  
  
Cordelia is an able lover; lithely, she slides over my body every night, and   
I let her, I take her into my body and my head, my life. The only part she   
cannot penetrate is my heart, because as much as I feel for her, she is not   
my One.  
  
She is not sunshine kiss, she is not living flame, she is not the girl I   
dream of and lust for and love like it's all I can do.  
  
I do a pretty good job of hiding it; I smile at Cordelia every morning, I   
make her coffee, and sometimes eggs, and I dance with her in the moonlight   
glow. I kiss her, and hug her, and pretend to be hers.  
  
Except I'm not. Except I never can be.  
  
I know I should admit it to her, and maybe I would, if she ever asked. She   
wouldn't, though, because I once promised her that part of my life was over,   
that I no longer wished for Slayer blood and scent and sex, even though it   
was a lie.  
  
I know I should let her go. Cordelia, I mean, not my Slayer. I should let   
her go, because this isn't fair, and she deserves more. She's my best   
friend, though, and life is so lonely, and I can't bear to lose this peace   
we have. Even if my heart keens for another, having Cordelia makes my life   
bearable.  
  
I can't let that go.  
  
Without her, it's nothing but Buffy, Buffy, Buffy, and I can't deal with   
that anymore. I can't mourn for her and long for her and wish for her every   
moment of the day anymore, because I can never survive without her.  
  
My Buffy. For so long, the reason I stayed alive.  
  
My heart tells me to stop this - thing - with Cordelia, but my head, it   
hangs on stubbornly, telling me that if I just lay in my bed with her one   
time, I'll learn to love with her, and all memory of Buffy will vanish to   
the mists. My head tells me I'm a fool for not falling in love with her, my   
best friend, and my head is right.  
  
But my heart just can't be swayed.  
  
I remember, with sick intensity, the look on Buffy's face when I told her of   
this abomination of a relationship. I remember her hitching breath, and her   
flushed cheeks, and her whispered cry.  
  
I remember staring at her, and longing for her, but letting her go as she   
turned and ran, because what else could I do? For Buffy, there was never   
anything but delayed goodbyes, and I couldn't say another. Not to Buffy, not   
to Cordelia, not to anybody.  
  
So I let this thing slide, and I stayed in Cordelia's arms.  
  
I've been there ever since, and it hurts, it *hurts*, and sometimes when I   
stare into her big eyes and run my hand through her short brown locks, I   
think about telling her.  
  
I know exactly what I'd say. I've practiced it, over and over and over in   
private, but I can never force out the words.  
  
My head, my traitorous, ignorant head, will never let me.  
  
Because, it says, "Hold her." It says, "Love her."  
  
Except I can't.  
  
And I don't know if I want to. 


End file.
